


all about you

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: ...or is it?, Crushes, Friends to Lovers, High School, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, Wilbur is a simp, hahahahah, this one goes for my georgebur people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Having a crush is the worst thing you could possibly have when you’re in high school. And Wilbur Soot is in big trouble. If you’re looking for a love story, this isn’t it.
Relationships: GeorgeNotFound/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 94
Collections: anonymous





	all about you

Having a crush is the worst thing you could possibly have when you’re in high school. And Wilbur Soot is in big trouble.

He’s in the school library, sitting on piles and piles of workload due the week after on a Monday, yet what covers every inch of space in his mind isn’t physics nor the facts and revenant information of World War II. What covers his mind is instead, pink lips, porcelain hands with reddish tones in the knuckles, a subtle giggle in the school hallways, barely noticeable but because Wilbur is a weak man, he could notice the sound in a room full of chattering loud mouths.

It doesn’t help that the subject of his affections sits a few tables away from him, across none other than Clay. _Of bloody course._

If you’re looking for a love story, this isn’t it. Wilbur’s life is nothing short of it. He’s the side character, not the love interest. The background character, definitely not the protagonist. No, that would be Clay. And his love interest would be George Davidson, who so obviously has his heart set on him. You could call them high school sweethearts or the make up-break up couple, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t really change anything. This is not Wilbur’s love story. And maybe he just has to learn how to make his peace with that. He tries not to pick on the aching scar that George had unknowingly inflicted on him. He knows if he prods hard enough, it would just end up bleeding and hurting way more than it already does.

Alas, Wilbur has very little self control. Really, its a losing battle.

“Hey big man,” Tommy, a student a few years below him sits down across from Wilbur with his friend, Tubbo on his heels. Tommy places down a notebook on the table and opens it up. Wilbur can see more doodles than there are any notes, but he already expected that from him. “Finals week is absolute shit, am I right?”

Wilbur knows Tommy like the back of his hand. Some would think its embarrassing, having a 16 year old for your best friend, but Wilbur doesn’t mind at all. Besides, he’s only two years older anyway. He loves Tommy like a brother. Maybe thats why he puts his elbow on the table and rests the side of his cheek on is palm and says “What do you need Tommy?”

Tommy’s face suddenly falls into seriousness, all business-like. “Its the Iliad. I dont know what the fuck is going on.”

Tubbo takes his seat beside Tommy and tells Wilbur, “I’ve been trying to help him! He says my notes are incoherent!”  
“Thats because it is!”

“What do you mean? You’ve barely even looked at it!”

He lets the two bicker back and forth. He focuses on highlighting sentences on his book like it was some kind of coloring book, but it doesnt work. He reads the sentence twice, thrice, but it doesnt fucking work.

its like his eyes move by itself when he steals a glance towards George’s table. He’s laughing at something Clay said, his head thrown back in laughter, eyes crinkled shut. He imagines being in Clay’s place, making him laugh like that. God, he’d be the luckiest person in the world.

He brings his eyes back on his book and pretends he’s alright.

“Okay, anyway. Will, I need your old notes on the Iliad. And stat. The quiz is on three days.”  
Tubbo corrects him, “Two days. And yeah, same here.”  
Wilbur looks up from his book. “I thought you have notes, Tubbo?”

“Eh. Tommy’s right though. Your notes are way better.”

“See! I’m always right,” Tommy lights up. Tommy and Tubbo fight a lot, but they always make up after minutes of bickering. They’re inseparable, those two.

“Alright, I’ll look through my old backpack and see what I can find. Ill give it to you guys tomorrow if thats okay.”  
“Fine by me!” Tommy looks to Tubbo and hands him some pocket money. “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. Get us apple juice.”  
Tubbo sits up and takes the money. Hesitates, and turns back to look at Tommy. “But I want orange juice.”  
“Then go get us some bloody orange juice.” Tubbo beams and waves at the two, hurrying off to the canteen with a pep in his step.

Wilbur doesn’t pay attention to the exchange. He’s been reading this sentence for minutes now and not a single word has processed in his poor, tiny brain. It almost sounds unintelligible to him.

“Did you know Tubbo gets pulp in his orange juice. Blegh. He’s disgusting.” Tommy says it with fondness in his voice though and rolls his eyes, but Wilbur doesn’t catch it. It seems that Tommy starts to notice his stress radiating off of him, because he worries “Hey, big man. You okay? You look like your going to burn that book with your eyes.”

“Huh? Oh, sorry Tommy, I wasnt listening, what was that?”  
“Sheesh man, whats gotten into you?” Its in that moment that he hears a chair screech back, an indication that someone stood up. The sound comes from Georges table, and Wilbur’s head automatically moves towards the direction. Sure enough, George and Clay stand up to leave the library together. He doesn’t miss the way Clay’s hand grabs George’s hand and swipes his thumb across the pale skin. His eyes follow the couple out the door.

Tommy follows all of this, sees the way Wilbur’s expression falls when George doesnt even spare a look his way. “Yikes. Remind me to never have a crush on anyone, ever.”

Wilbur blushes at that. “Hey, its not like i can control who I like. Trust me, Tommy. If i got to choose, my first choice wouldn’t be someone whos already taken.”  
Despite his obvious pain, Tommy laughs. “Yeah, thats fucking depressing. Get well soon.”

Wilbur sighs, eyes back on his book in concentration, but he knows its no use. He has to wait for the mental image of George laughing, George running a hand through his fringe out of his mind to really focus — and it usually takes a long time for that to happen.

“God, Tommy. It just gets worse.”  
“You say it like its some disease.”  
“Well maybe it is!” It certainly feels like it, too. A fever that spreads. Yeah, that sounds about right. “I don't really see whats to cry about. Do you guys even _talk_ to each other?” Tommy is such a pain in the ass sometimes. Wilbur bites back a frown. “Yes, we do. We have two classes together, history and music. But we only talk there, and its usually just a small exchange of words. He’s around his friends most of the time.” _He’s usually around Clay._ He thanks whatever god is listening for having Clay in some other class, because he knows he wouldn’t let George leave his side.

God, he hates how George reduces him to this obsessed and jealous little shit.

He starts to fold and unfold the corner of the page. “If its anywhere else, he doesn’t even notice me.” He says it quietly, too hurt to really give that thought a loud voice.

Having a crush is the worst thing you could possibly have in high school. And Wilbur is the unluckiest man in the world.

~

Being late to class is no unfamiliar habit to Wilbur. He thinks it makes him look cool and mysterious. Obviously, this is not the case at all, not even in the slightest. Instead, it just…well. Makes him late. Sometimes it earns him a few trips to detention, but he hardly considers that a punishment. Detention is a place where he can write whatever lyrics come to his head and concur a song out of it. He’s been pulling out love songs lately. Love songs he can be proud of, honestly.

So when Wilbur idly walks around the empty hallways towards the music classroom, he doesn’t feel the usual tickle of panic some students would probably feel this late in time.

He definitely does not expect Clay to come out of the bathroom when he passes by it. Wilbur turns to his direction. The teachers would excuse a student like Clay. He’s what you’d call a teachers pet after all. He looks sweaty, breath heaving like he just ran a multiple laps. He catches Wilbur staring and startles. “Oh, Will! I didnt see you there. Late again, are you?”

“Id say the same for you.” Clay laughs in response, and Wilbur kind of hates how likable the guy is. It would be much easier to hate him if he were actually an asshole. “Okay, ill head off now. I’ll see you around.” He saunters off to the opposite direction without another look his way.

Wilbur walks off on his own path when he hears the bathroom door open a second time. He doesnt bother turning around at this point when an all too familiar voice calls out his name. “Wilbur! Wait up!”

He looks back. He didnt know what he was expecting, but surely it wasnt George running towards him with a hand reaching out. His heart skips a few beats. He finally catches up to him, just as sweaty as Clay was, his hair disheveled and all. Wilburs eyes travel to his lips (he’s only but a man, of course) and notices how its pinker than usual.

Wilbur isnt _that_ much of a fool to not put two and two together. He wonders what it must be like kissing George in a bathroom stall. He wonders if Clay knows just how fucking lucky he is, wonders if Clay’s heart beats for George like how his beats for him.

He wonders when his heart will ever stay still whenever he hears Georges voice.

“Fuck, are we late? Oh shit, we have to hurry!” George pushes Wilbur forward with a hand on his shoulder, running after him. “Go, go go!”

“Chill, Gogy we’ll be fine!” Wilbur laughs despite himself, running as he’s told. He pretends that it was him who was kissing George senseless, him being the reason why George is late to class when he almost never is, the punctual bastard. He pretends for a little while as they run together, Wilbur laughing at how stressed out George is, and George shoving him with his shoulder.

“Had a fun time with the boyfriend, huh?”

“Ugh, shut up.”

They enter the classroom with heaving breaths and throbbing kneecaps.

The whole class turns their head around to look at them. The Professor crosses his arms, and Wilbur swears he could hear George gulp beside him. He gives him a nudge in the shoulder, as if to say _‘hey, chill. you’re alright’._ George seems to relax a bit.

“And look who graces us with his presence, Wilbur Soot.” The professor comments, almost bored. He raises an eyebrow when he sees George beside him. “And it appears he brought a friend along. Oh, George, never succumb to the influence of bad behavior. We can’t lose you too.” Wilbur catches the way Georges cheeks flush a soft red at that. He must have imagined it. “Well, looks like you two would have to be partners then.”

Wilbur almost chokes on his own spit. “P-partners?” Its Georges turn to nudge Wilbur on the shoulder with his. He gives him a smile. Wilbur thinks heaven is in the crevices of that little, uncomplicated smile. He thinks he falls a little further.

  
Somehow, the professors voice manages to push through the thoughts of George. “For your finals. Make a song using the lessons we’ve learned, simple as that. You’d know if you were actually early to class. Now please take a seat and discuss it before I give you guys detention.”

it looks like George is still worried about having a detention slip than being Wilbur’s partner. Wilbur, on the other hand…

“So, uh…lets get started?”

~

It turns out they didnt really have much to talk about since the bell rang just minutes after they settled down, but the both agreed to meet up in Wilbur’s place in the weekend, as Wilbur so graciously offered.

He ought to pass by Tommy before he gets to leave for the school bus. “Tommy! Tommy!” He’s running after him with the biggest smile in his face. “Wilbur! Why are you so smiley, oh god.”

He takes him by the shoulders and shakes him like a mad man. He cant conceal his smile. “Im partners with George for our music finals!”

Tommy stares at him, confused. “Listen Big man, I dont know about you, but that sounds like trouble.” Wilbur stares at him back, dumbfounded by the unexpected reaction. “Why would you say so?”  
“I mean,” Tommy scratches the back of his head. “The mans still with Clay, is he not?” Wilbur nods his head. “Yeah, of course. Tell me something I dont know.”

“I dont really see what you have to gain here, then. It just seems to me that you’ve dug yourself a deeper hole.”

Wilbur lets the words register and the gravity of his situation fully comprehend in his head. Tommy continues, “I dont know much about crushes, but I do know that the more time you spend with George, the more you seem to…i dont know. Get really sad right after.” Well, he’ll be damned. Tommy’s right for once.

Wilbur doesnt have anything to gain here. He’s not an asshole, after all. Its not like he’s actively trying to steal George away. He’d never do that. 

So he figures he’ll go for the seemingly easy solution. “I just wanna be friends with him,”

Tommy raises his eyebrows, like he doesn’t believe him. “No, really, Tommy! This’ll be good! I can finally get over him and realize he’s just like any other person. And once I get over him…well, then I would have him as a friend.” _Its better than not having him at all._ He doesnt say this, though.

“If you say so, Will.” And thats the end of that. Wilbur tells himself its a smooth road from here, but Tommy’s worries and suspicions still manage to tug and pull at his sleeve with every passing second.

~

_Am I wasting your time? Are you wasting mine?_

_Sorry if i’m like this, darling_

_but you’re better to be around with_

_than the space beside me_

_perfectly carved in your shape_

_but maybe its better this way_

_because you were never mine_

_never mine_

_i’ll be okay with the empty space beside me_

_i can’t waste any more of your precious time_

_so go kiss him in the bathroom stalls_

_theres no point waiting in line_

_not when i'm wasting my time_

_wasting my time_

Wilbur stares at the lyrics in his notebook until he decides its good enough. He collapses on hisbed and closes his eyes, tries to hum the words into life. Song writing is cathartic, its why he does it so often. Its also why he’ll never show it to anyone, not when he’s spilled all his guts out in the yellowing paper. Honestly, he might wind up scaring someone. Sincerity is scary, after all.

He flips the page and writes another one.

~

Days blend into one when all of a sudden, its a Saturday and George’s text pings a notification in Wilburs phone. Wilbur hates how his heart jumps when he sees Georges name in his phone. He hates the adrenaline rush threatening to explode him from the inside. Surely he isn’t _this_ easy. He taps his phone to open the message.

**George: What time should I come over for the music finals?**

Wilbur types out a reply with shaking fingers. It takes him longer than usual because he keeps messing up and pressing the wrong letters. He reads his message over and over, checking for typos, reconsidering the approach of his message and his choice of words. Its not even a long message, no normal human being should fret over something so futile like this. He tells himself to get a grip and press send already.

**Wilbur: Hey !! is 4:30 good for you?**

Unlike Wilbur, it doesn’t take long for George to reply.

**George: Sure, fine by me :) See you**

Wilbur waits for a couple more seconds, waiting for another message to come through. When it becomes clear George ended it at that, Wilbur closes his phone. Well, that was anti climatic. Still, his face feels like its on fire, and his heart hasn’t stopped its drumming song. Yeah, damn his heart for being so damn easy to play with. He lets out a loud groan into his pillow, wishing he had any other heart, because surely this one is defective.

George rings his doorbell at exactly 4:30. Punctual bastard. Upon hearing the sound, Wilbur runs downstairs, calling out, “I got it! I got it!” His mother busies herself cutting vegetables in the kitchen when she gives him a nonchalant shrug.

Wilbur opens the door, and there stands George with a simple white crewneck. Wilbur already knows he’s going to end up associating each and every white crewneck in the entire world to George. “Hey! You’re early.”

George gives him a smile. “No im not. Im on time, idiot. You’re just always late to class.”

“Whats that now?” Wilbur’s mom looks up from the cutting board to where Wilbur and George are standing in the threshold. George looks to Wilbur with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. He mouths, “Oops.” Wilbur stifles a laugh, calling out to his mom, “Its nothing, ma! Don’t worry about it!”

George teases Wilbur about it on the way upstairs

Wilbur leads them to his bedroom, the drumming of his heart no unfamiliar nuisance. He opens the door and welcomes him in. “Well, this is it. I have an acoustic and electric over there.” He points to a corner of his bedroom where his two guitars lay against the wall next to each other.

Wilbur’s room is no sight to behold. Its like any normal teenager’s bedroom, with white walls and some band posters of The Smiths. He doesn't have anything fancy or anything to brag about, but he did make his bed before George came, and for Wilbur, thats something he almost never bothers with. He even sprayed some of his moms perfume. No way is he going to make a bad impression.

“Nice room,” George comments. He sits down on Wilbur’s bed as Wilbur grabs his acoustic guitar and sits on the carpeted floor, facing George. The guitar sits awkwardly on his lap. “Okay well, the criteria is pretty loose, so we have a lot of creative freedom here.” George nods his head. Wilbur continues, “Lets start off with an arpeggio. What do you want?”

“Honestly, i’m fine with any. Professor said to convey the emotion you feel the most.”

“Yeah, thats right.”  
“So what are you feeling?” Wilbur pretends to think about it. _Hopeless. Jaded. Just fucking depressed as hell_. Obviously he doesnt say these things, because then he’d worry George and George would ask him why he’s feeling all of these things. He doesnt have to know that he’s the catalyst of the internal conflict of emotions spurring in Wilburs chest. So instead, he lies. Because its easier. Because the other option isn’t even an option to begin with. He brings his hands up. “I dont know. No strong emotions here, sorry.”

George scoffs. “Okay, no. i’m sure you have something. All your songs are so…emotional.”

Wilbur’s brain short wires. “You listened to my songs?” George purses his lips. Wilbur knows its his habit whenever he gets nervous. “I mean, not that I don’t mind…”

George laughs at himself, bringing a hand to his forehead. “You probably think im weird. Yes, I do listen to your songs whenever you pass them in the gdrive. You can’t blame me though! Everyone lurks in the gdrive!” Its true, everyone loves to poke fun at others songs and assignments. Wilbur would be lying if he said he hasn’t done the exact same thing. But George’s projects are all instrumentals, mostly plucking in his acoustic guitar. Sometimes he even adds drums. But he almost never sings, ever. He wonders how he survived a whole year of music class without vocals.

George says, “You’re pretty famous, i hope you know that. Everyone gushes over how good all your songs are, its not fair.” He rolls his eyes playfully, an exaggerated look in his face.

He prays to some god that would listen for George to not notice the unmistakable blush spreading across his cheeks. “Famous? Oh, really now?”

“Hey, their words, not mine”

“Whos they?”  
“i dont know. Everyone else i guess.”

Wilbur smiles. Its always nice talking to George like this. Rare are the occasions he would catch him without Clay beside his hip. Even rarer are the occasions it would just be him and George together, none of their mutual friends butting into the conversation, stealing half of George’s attention.

“Im pretty sure your boyfriend deserves the title more than i do, though.” George laughs at that comment.

“Clay? Nah, he’s just a self proclaimed ass with an ego.” Wilbur doesn’t miss the way George says it with fondness. He ignores the prick of ache where his heart is, but only for the time being. Lord knows he’s going straight to his songwriting notebook once George leaves him alone with his hurt. Besides, he knows he’s right despite what George tells him. Clay is far more popular than Wilbur would ever be, praised and highly acclaimed music or not.

He’s the main quarterback in their football team, the guy with all the looks. Some may think that his grades fluctuate on account of him skipping most his classes, but his straight A report card says otherwise —its proper protagonist behavior, after all.

George is perfect for him. Where George is all soft edges and subtle humor, Clay is loud and vibrant. Where George is the wallflower, Dream is the life of the party. Its clear: George is for Clay like how Clay is for George. And every single time they’d break up and open a crack of hope for Wilbur to come rushing in the picture, they’d make up the next day and return to being the high school sweethearts. They’ll always choose each other. Its almost a universal fact of life.

Its why Wilburs stopped trying. _Its better to have him as a friend than not have him at all._ It sounds depressing as hell, but background characters like Wilbur would just have to make use of the crumbs.

George sways his legs to and fro, his heels hitting the side of Wilbur’s bed. “I listened to one of your songs from last sem. The one about Vienna?” Wilbur knows the song he’s talking about. “Since I Saw You in Vienna?”

“Yeah! That one. I like the plucking you did for that, especially that bit for the higher E string. Its catchy.”

“You must really like plucking, huh?”  
George shrugs his shoulders. “I like it better than strumming sometimes. But we can do a strumming progression if you want.”

They talked about what they wanted the song to be, what emotion they wanted to convey. Eventually, they came up with a storyline fit for a love song about someone pinning over a crush. If Wilbur were any other person, he’d laugh at the irony. its too bad he’s the unlucky one pinning.

Hours passed by them like how hours naturally do. Wilbur did most of the work while George gave him feedback and his insights on what worked and what didn't,but he didn’t mind carrying, not when it was music. After they settled with a chord progression and percussion (done by George) all that was left to do was add lyrics. This is where Wilbur hesitates.

As if on queue, George announces, “I gotta go now, its getting late and I have curfew. Do you wanna just call each other some other day for the lyrics?”

Well, clearly theres only one correct answer to that question. “Yeah, yeah of course. I’ll call you.” _You can count me on that._ George stands and stretches his arms up, arching his back. Its that perfect time of the day where the sun filters down through the blinds in stripes of light. The golden hues mark George’ face up and Wilbur thinks it isn't fair that he gets away with being this beautiful, yet so oblivious to it. It somehow makes him more attractive.

Wilbur thinks George is about to head out the door, so he starts to stand up to lead him out when George tells him “wait, wait can I borrow your guitar?” Wilbur looks to George outstretched hand and to his guitar. He gives it to him. “Why?” George sits back down on the floor next to Wilbur and runs a finger through the strings, eliciting a soft noise. “Tell me if this is accurate.”

He starts to pluck the strings. The song is unmistakable. George is playing Since I Saw You in Vienna. Its impossible to even try and pry his eyes off of him. Wilbur remembers the times he slaved away the hours of the dire days trying to get the lyrics right for that song, trying to encapsulate that wounding feeling of recklessness, the fear of settling down and putting down roots. Now, George holds his pain in every callused finger, in every pluck and pull of his guitar string.

Wilbur starts to hum along with George. Their voices, although soft and shy, join together. George messes up a part and abruptly stops. He nervously giggles. “Yep thats it. I listened to it so much that I learned it by ear. Its really really good, you should give yourself more credit.”

“You’re pretty great too. You nailed every part.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” George stands up and this time he heads for Wilbur’s door. Wilbur follows him with adrenaline rush in his veins, a bewildered kind of ecstasy. “I messed up that last part.”  
“You’re way too hard on yourself.”

George smiles at him.

When Wilbur waves goodbye to him and closes the door, he instantly slumps down on the floor. He suddenly cant feel his legs.

~

_the road to you_

_is a road full of sun_

_flames licking my skin_

_biting and hissing_

_but i’ll still love you —_

_through the burning flames_

_and my tattered skin_

_i find another way_

_i can love you_

_and i tell myself its ok_

_to love this way_

_because this was how_

_i was taught_

_to love_

_to love like the world is ending._

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck am i doing. if i get enough kudos i might actually continue this...


End file.
